


Blue Valentine

by sangueuk



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-12
Updated: 2011-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-27 06:31:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sangueuk/pseuds/sangueuk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Academy fic in response to this prompt at the jim_and_bones 'Sweethearts Challenge' - #44 - BAD BOY: Valentine's Day party at the Academy. <i>Bones is sick of Jim overlooking him in favour of sexy young things, and decides to dress up like a seriously hot bad boy to get his attention.</i> Apologies, prompter if it doesn’t quite follow the brief!</p><p> </p><p>Intriguing snippet: <i> This isn’t <b>Bones </b>– Bones is a slob. Bones wears faded shit -- tattered jeans and beat-up sneakers. He doesn’t dress for the ball.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Valentine

**Author's Note:**

> My paired fic is by the wonderful sail_aweigh - http://sail-aweigh.livejournal.com/217796.html - 'Embraceable You' Our stories are entirely different so please go read hers too!
> 
> (Also, since I seem to have become addicted to casting men I fancy in my fics, you should know that Dr Puri is played by the delicious Naveen Andrews.)
> 
> Thanks to awarrington for beta reading! Also thanks to weepingnaiad for helping me brain-storm Bones’ outfit. Yes, he is our own dress-up doll!

**Blue Valentine**

Jim’s stretched out on Bones bed, hands tucked in under his head, sneakers carefully placed on his jacket at the foot. He’s been here twenty minutes and he’s feeling an odd mix of twitchy and exhausted.

“Come _on_ , Bones – we’re gonna be late!”

But Jim can’t be heard above the sound of the shower. He scans the small room and the neat interior one more time, too lethargic to pick up a PADD and read instead of brood.

There’s one lamp on, glowing with the holos on McCoy’s desk - other than that, the room’s in darkness. He yawns, lulled by the muted light, the water running.

Shit he’s too tired to go out, but it’s Friday, and it’s Valentine’s, and he’s in dire need of some R&R after the week he’s had. And, if he’s honest with himself, he’s kind of missed Bones over the past couple of months.

They’re meeting Gaila and Omar at the club, and maybe a couple of other cadets he’s become buddies with. It’s the first time Jim’s managed to persuade Bones to come out in weeks and now he’s here, Jim’s relieved he didn’t back out. Truth is, he couldn’t even pin down his two drinking buddies until the morning, both taking their time to confirm and having been strangely absent over the past week. So, at least he has Bones to hang with. It’ll be great catching up. Maybe they can go back to it being a regular thing again.

Last time they went out on the town together, they shot some pool and had a few beers. The night was young; Jim came back from the men’s room, straightening his hair with the palm of his hand, hoping he didn’t look too flushed. When he got back to their booth, Bones had left.

Jim remembers how he put the pieces of torn-up beer mat in his pocket and how he slumped onto the leather seat, searched his inbox for an explanation but nothing from Bones to say why he just upped and went. He recalls how he moved his friend’s half empty bottle of beer , held it up to the light and watched the liquid swirl, then knocked it back wiping his mouth clean on the back of his hand until, with a sigh, he headed back into busy throng looking for anyone prepared to hang out for a while.

Neither of them mentioned how Bones went AWOL the few times they’ve bumped into each other and, since that night, Jim realises now, Bones pretty much disappeared off the scene. Not surprising – he always seems to take his studying more seriously, has killer clinic hours, and lives in a different part of the campus.

For his part, Jim hasn’t really gone out of his way to chase Bones down, accepting with some regret that maybe they weren’t meant to be friends after all. Which is weird because hanging with Bones felt right from that day on the shuttle when he thought he found someone else who didn’t fit in with this bunch of wide-eyed newbies any more than he did.

Jim scratches his belly and lifts his ass off the bed. His belt’s digging into his back, and must have got twisted round or something. He’s got two fingers down the back of his jeans, one leg half off the bed when the bathroom door’s kicked open and, Jesus _fuck_ Bones is right there, towel wrapped round his waist looking like some kind of deity stepped out of a pool of asses milk. He’s backlit, creating an aurora of light around him and all that’s missing is a fucking heavenly choir.

Jim blinks, swallows – well, shit, the guy’s hot – how come he’s never noticed? Maybe he should get his eyes tested…Now _this_ is irritating and new, Jim thinks, and before the thought can settle in, just as quickly he breaks into what he hopes is a charming smile.

“Practising your moves for later on, Jim?” Bones drawls smoothly, sauntering to his dresser.

Jim blinks. “Er…no, I…”

“See,” Bones says, over his shoulder, voice thick with trade-mark sarcasm, which Jim realises he likes a whole lot and missed even more, “ _this_ is what no one else knows about you, how smart you are – an’ you have a real way with words.” Bones opens another drawer. “Here lemme see where my shitty stick’s at - you’re gonna need it tonight.” Instead he pulls out a pair of black boxer briefs.

There are still beads of water on Bones’ long, tanned back and Jim watches the muscles flex as he moves, mouth suddenly dry. He gazes, a little stunned, at the outline of his friend’s butt through the towel and drags his tongue across his lower lip.

Then Jim says two prayers in quick succession: one thanking Mr and Mrs McCoy for producing such a fine specimen (who they obviously never taught how to dry off after a shower), and a second -- that his jacket will levitate from the foot of the bed and drape itself over his half-hard cock --he really shouldn’t have worn his fuck-me jeans.

Jim pouts at Bones’ back but rearranges his mouth into a smirk, just as Bones turns to face him. He’s partly in shadow and, if Jim wasn’t sober, he’d totally wonder at how Bones looks well - diabolical. Okay, Jim decides, it’s official, he should sleep more – he’s lost his mind.

This isn’t helping, happy trail - _fuck_. Jim’s eyes whip back up to Bones’ face, to dark eyes that hold his for a second too long. He stumbles to his feet and sits back down on the bed with a bounce of the mattress but with his jacket mercifully hiding Little Jim. He un-sticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth and says in his best I-don’t-give-a-crap voice:

“You gonna be long, man?” When actually he’d love Bones to take a very long time, he realises.

“Just need to throw on some clothes—”

 _Please, don’t on my account_. “‘Kay.”

He watches Bones feet as he takes the four steps to the kitchenette and bends over again ( _Jesus_ ) to find something in a floor level cupboard. “But we’ve got time for a drink?” Bones waves a half-empty bottle, sets two glasses on his desk, and drags the chair out so he’s sitting facing Jim.

Jim’s never had a problem invading anyone’s personal space, in fact it’s all part of stepping in before he’s stepped on, and with Bones it’s been no different. Until now. To be honest, he’d be kind of grateful if Bones went and stood as far away as possible.

Jim can smell him. Well, he’s _always_ been able to smell him, he has a nose for fuck’s sake, but he’s never _noticed_ before - how clean Bones smells, and the spice from the shower gel makes Jim have to concentrate so he doesn’t throw his head back and nod in approval.

Another thing the McCoys haven’t taught their son, Jim realises, is the whole ‘tuck the towel in when parading around defenceless buddies’ requirement, because Jim could swear the knot’s loosened and when Bones sits down, legs apart, towel falling open slightly so dark haired, long thighs are uncovered, Jim feels a lump form in his throat that takes him as much by surprise as if Santa had just materialised in front of him and said, “Hey, Kirk, I _told_ you naughty boys don’t get gifts.”

Glass in hand, Jim’s eyes dart from Bones’ knees, to the rug, to the holos on the desk, then to the white folds which he tries not to study, but for some reason he feels hyper-aware of how the golden light from the lamp catches the fabric.

Jim extends a hand to receive his tumbler of bourbon, commanding his eyes to _stop fucking looking already_ , and he gestures towards the holos of Jo-Jo, sloshing the drink dangerously close to spilling.

“So, those new pics?”

Bones scowls. Shit, he forgot – _we do not mention the kid_.

Bones crosses his legs and Jim’s eyes flicker over large, elegant feet, up to dark eyebrows, then his eyes roll. Damn, he’s going to have to visit the bathroom, _do_ something about this, get a grip, or he’s going to have a hellascious evening. Not that he _would_ actually jerk off – that would be one bad idea because, a) Bones would just _know_ what he’d been up to and torture Jim mercilessly and, b) jerking off over a mental image of a friend would just be…at best complicated.

 _Think about something else. It’ll go away._

He’s aware of McCoy’s lilting voice, lengthening vowels as he relates some story about “a fucking dumbass” at the clinic. All Jim can do for long minutes is frown, stare at his friend, wonder where the hell his brain’s been all these months, that he didn’t realise how fucking hot he was, followed swiftly by a desire to cut out the part of his brain which controls his testosterone levels.

“Jim!”

The volume seems to go up.

“What?”

“Are you high? Your eyes are kind of glassy—”

“You fucking kidding me?” And where the hell did Bones get those lips, they’re _enormous_ , girl-like even. “I’m tired, plus, you know, ribs ache a little from hand-to-hand this afternoon.”

“I told you to stay outta the gym – what are you? _Eight_?” McCoy’s eyebrows meet and he leans forward, the towel shifting so’s Jim might be able to see something – “Want me to take a look?”

 _What and come in my pants when you touch me?_ Jim’s internal voice pleads.

It’s at this point that Jim realises he’s lost. He _is_ lost. And isn’t that a new feeling? He clears his throat. The levies have broken. Wonderful. He’s condemned himself to either losing this potential friendship by doing something about this, or, worse, avoiding it because he can’t imagine ever being around Bones again without his dick at the very least throbbing.

“Nah, I’m good. You gonna get dressed or what?”

“No point,” Bones says, picking up his comm from the desk when it bleeps. He reads, half smiles and types an answer. “I’m gonna have to catch up with you there, Jim. I’m meeting someone here in a minute. We might be a while—“

Something about the look Bones gives Jim, releases an uncharacteristic wave of insecurity flooding through his belly, and little prickles skitter across his neck.

But they were going _together_.

Still, he can at least _look_ like he doesn’t give a shit. One thing Jim learned how to do way back is hide disappointment. And fear. In fact, fuck it. Jim knocks back his drink, licks his lips and stands, jacket still held across the bulge in his jeans, his face carefully arranged into nonchalant. “Cool, I’ll see you there. Okay if I take a leak?”

“See, you _are_ eight, asking my permission,” he hears as the bathroom door closes behind him. Jim doesn’t need a leak, he needs to clear his head.

He slumps against the door, closes his eyes. An image of Bones laying tender hands on him, nearly two weeks ago in the clinic, flashes in his mind’s eye.

Jim was drowsy with sedatives, lip bloodied, but bones no longer aching. In his weakened state, with the blink and beep of the machines maybe hypnotising him, it had suddenly seemed so important he ask Bones to come along to the party. He slurred his words, high on the pain-killers. “You _gotta_ come, Bonesy, you can’t deny a man his dying wish…”

“Ever call me that again, kid, and I’ll—”

And Jim remembers how that had felt better than the painkillers, _asking_ , and the whispered, “Okay, now shut the fuck up and go to sleep.” – hearing that had been pretty damn good too.

He runs the tap and lifts a hand to the mirror to wipe away some of the steam so’s he can take a look at himself, work out if his stupidity actually shows when, his hand freezes. Bones has drawn a heart in the mist. Jim frowns and traces his finger over it slowly. Why’s a grown man drawing hearts on Valentine’s? Must be someone he’s harbouring a crush on – weird. Who’d have thought? Jim flushes, counts to ten and emerges from the bathroom drying his hands on his jeans like he’s actually washed them.

When Bones gives him ‘a look’ which could mean, ‘Use a towel, dumb-ass’, or maybe ‘Get - I’ve got my heart’s desire coming over’, Jim decides right there to avoid Bones for the night. If he’s bringing someone else along it’ll just make things easier to quash this stupid _groiny_ interest he’s suddenly developed in his friend. Plus Bones won’t mind. He can hardly have expected Jim to stick by his side all night – this wasn’t a ‘just them’ thing from the start.

When the street door slides open, Jim almost bumps into a striking dude in a leather jacket on the step.

“Is Leonard here?” Chocolate eyes, flawless skin and a helluva swagger. Jim hates him instantly.

“Yeah, sure – sorry.” He steps aside and frowns at how the guy’s face lights up when he sees Bones. Well whose wouldn’t – the sight of Bones in a towel would rehydrate a mummy?

“Leo!”

 _Leo?_ What the…? Bones never mentioned this name as an option when they met on the shuttle. It was Leonard or nothing he thought. Hence Bones – no way Jim was going to address anyone as Leonard and come off like a school teacher.

There’s a rustle and Jim sees the guy’s got a leather bag under his arm, a suit or something in cellophane in one hand, and a bottle-shaped gift-bag in the other. Bones has a _date_? And a guy? Jim grinds his teeth.

“Hey, Nav, meet Jim Kirk. Jim – Naveen Puri!”

When Jim gets what he knows will be his last glimpse ever of that olive skin, the hair covered chest, those long legs _in a towel_ , the sense of loss for something he was never going to have anyway, hits him like a bolder to the chest. There you go – the fact that Bones has been lounging around in a towel and in no damned hurry to get dressed is the final piece of evidence Jim needs that this is a date.

Jim nods, balls his fists, narrows his eyes. “Hi!”

“I’m going to braid Leonard’s hair,” Naveen says, deadpan and infuriatingly suave.

Jim feels the tips of his ears burn. This must be who the heart on the mirror was drawn for – a nice _romantic_ touch for Naveen to find in the bathroom, something to set their Valentine’s evening off with a bang. Jim winces, surprises himself that he should find such an image so, well _unsettling_ \- and he can’t get away fast enough, tripping over his feet, the guy’s expensive cologne rasping his throat. Fucker. And the mocking warmth of McCoy’s chuckle, how he doesn’t snark at the comment, well if that doesn’t smack of shared intimacy and _a date_ well, he’ll eat his hat. If he owned one.

“Well you girls have fun, I’ll catch up with you later,” Jim mumbles, waving over his shoulder and pulling on his jacket now his cock’s most definitely retired for the while. He shoots a furious look at Puri’s sleek hoverbike, and contemplates kicking it over, except that would be childish now, wouldn’t it?

+++

With his chin resting on the perfectly beautiful and intelligent girl’s shoulder sitting on the bar stool in front of him, never mind that all he’s pretty much thought about is hair-covered legs and muscular asses for the past (how many, two?) hours, Jim’s forgotten how tired he is. He’s trying to give his new friend his undivided as he alternates between nibbles at her ear and mouthfuls of beer, but he can’t deny he’s got one eye on the door. Something makes him glance up and he spots Bones. Least it _must_ be Bones or his even hotter doppelganger.

“Shit, shit, I’m sorry!” Shit.

The semi-naked back previously pressed against his chest is now, Jim suspects, _permanently_ out of reach as the petite blonde skitters away form him yowling, trying to reach behind to dab her skin and wipe away the film of beer Jim’s spat all over her.

The barman catches Jim’s eye, hands him a pile of napkins and Jim pushes the stool away and bumbles towards the girl only to be cut short by her raised hand.

“Don’t… Just…”

Jim’s transfixed by the fine sparkle of saliva on her lower lip. She shakes her head, glances at her friends as if to gather in collective disgust, her outstretched palm a barrier Jim knows better than try to cross. Fine. He places the napkins on the bar, keeps one to dab his chin and picks up what’s left of his beer.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

More glares. “You know something, Kirk, the things they say about you are all wrong. You’re an even _bigger_ frat boy.”

And with that, she spins on a heel and disappears into the throng of dancers on her way to the bathroom to clean up. Shit, that satin dress, what little there was of it in the first place, is pretty much ruined. Jim vows he’ll hunt her down later, way later, and offer to pay for a replacement or something but, seriously, wtf, Bones?

Jim perches at the bar, figuring the wet patch is penance enough for his crime, and scans the mass of dancers and revellers for his friend. He’s got to get another look because, Jesus, Bones looked hot, so hot in fact that when Jim caught sight of him at the other end of the bar – well, the frat boy spray of fail was a perfectly reasonable reaction if you ask him. In fact, the girl (and what the hell was her name anyway?) would have probably knocked _her_ drink over if she hadn’t been so intent on Jim’s lips on her ear-lobe, if she’d had her eyes _open_ and seen what he’d seen. Bones…

Bones in a tailored, charcoal leather jacket, gabardine slacks and a white t, not the kind Jim’s partial to, from multi-packs he picks up in the city, but an expensive one. And, even from ten meters away, Jim could tell the bastard was wearing _eyeliner_ – eyeliner Bones wouldn’t have applied himself, for sure. And his hair was definitely not braided, but gelled up into a ‘casual’ shiny, dark…fuck. Puri’s fingers in Bones’ hair – why does this suddenly make him angry?

“Where the hell is Doctor McCoy and what have you done with him?” he mutters under his breath.

This isn’t Bones – Bones is a slob. Bones wears faded shit -- tattered jeans and beat-up sneakers. He doesn’t dress for the ball. He wears plaid, or scrubs, or his cadet reds. He does comfortable or uniform. This look, this is _badass_ , this is peacock. Jim feels a thrum of interest in his cock. Damn – this is unsettling and he’s not sure if he likes it. Just when it looked like he and Bones were good again -- Bones gets himself a boyfriend. Jim necks the last of his beer and raises his hand for another.

Where the hell is he? And come to that, how about Gaila and Omar? Knowing them– up to no good. He smiles to himself in approval but, when his eyes run over the packed club, the smile fades - pink and red strobe lightning bringing sweaty faces and gyrating hips into relief. Couples or soon to be couples surround him, or so it feels. He realizes he can’t remember the last time he felt so lonely.

Omar, Gaila, they’re fuck-buddies, fellow cadets he can share a joke with, sit in the canteen with. They steal each others fries, warm each others beds but he doesn’t talk with them. They’re not friends. They don’t _know_ each other. And they’re not here.

Bones, the few times they fell into step together, when they went out to shoot pool or share a drink, Bones stuck by his side. It’s an epiphany hits Jim like a cartoon safe dropped from a height – shit, this wasn’t how he’d treated Bones, stayed with him all night. Pretty much each time they’d gone out, Jim had slipped away for a quickie with someone or other. But he’d always gone back to Bones, Jim says to himself, oddly defensive although no one’s actually there to listen. Not when he’s been totally stood up by the looks of it.

Fuck it. It’s not like he _needs_ to talk. Jim scratches at his throat, searches the sea of faces again. Wonders if he should strike up a conversation with the bar keep, but the guy’s busy, and what’s he gonna say anyway?

Whatever his fucked up understanding of friendship is, Jim realizes with a twinge, that if anyone matched up to it, that would be Bones. Thing is, it wasn’t about talking, it was… he searches for the right word –shit, maybe a couple of shots will help him figure this out.

“Why the long face, kid?”

Sandalwood washes over him and Jim freezes. He’s not at all comfortable with his out-of-the-blue crushing on his friend and what it’s doing to his brain cells (and Little Jim) so, he takes a moment to deep breath, rearrange his face into what he hopes is a semblance of adult, before he turns to face Bones.

“Hey, Bones,” he says to a leather clad shoulder. He’ll need a half dozen more breaths before he can look at that face.

“You okay?”

 _Concern is not helping, Bones!_ “Sure I am. It’s just I spilled my drink over this perfectly nice lady and I’m lying low.” Jim pulls out his disarming smile, glad it’s pretty dark and Bones won’t pick up how flushed he suddenly is.

Bones chuckles and Jim chews the inside of his mouth. _I am blind and now I see_ , floats through his mind.

“So…er… where’s Va-Va-Veen?” Jim smirks.

His eyes make their way up to Bones’ jaw. He’s totally command track, the way he’s _confronting_ this face, piece by piece, but Bones’ uncharacteristic silence means that now Jim has to look up, make contact with hazel? Green? Dark eyes – yeah, that’ll do.

It’s like Jim’s fallen down a mine shaft or something, the way his stomach drops when he scans the handsome bastard’s stubbly, frowny… Jim has to look away - he’s never noticed how _many_ sexy-ass frown lines Bones has framing his Jim-you’re-an-idiot expression before, nor that amazing freckle on his cheek.

“What? It’s a play on words, Bones – va-va-voom becomes Va-Va-Veen, my awesome nickname inspired by the motorbi…”

“Naveen’s fetching me a drink. Would’ve got you one, but I couldn’t see you anywhere.”

The charcoal line under his eyes draws Jim like a helpless bee to nectar and he consciously has to rein in his tongue which is straying onto his bottom lip again. Bones looks away, doesn’t seem inclined to have a conversation of any kind and Jim swallows, raises his empty beer bottle and scans the bar for Bones’ boyfriend. There’s no sign of him but, he does spots emerald skin on the dance floor. Thank fuck.

“Hey, there’s Gaila – catch up with you later, man.”

“Well, I won’t hold my breath,” Jim thinks he hears as he ambles towards his friend, he loses sight of her, then spots Omar’s arms twisting above afro hair, remembers how that feels against his back and feels way better. Then they disappear from sight again and he spins around, partially blinded by the red and pink strobe slicing around him.

The hoard of dancers seems to part before him as Jim walks through and it makes him feel shunned somehow.

Least he escaped Bones without embarrassing himself, yet he curses the tight jeans again, for once not wanting to draw any attention to himself, to maybe just curl up in a corner and drink himself into a stupor.

Jim accepts Gaila and Omar have disappeared, so he settles into a space and half-heartedly attempts to lose himself in the throng, in himself. He throws his head back and examines the ceiling, the net of pink, red and white balloons, the laser patterns and holos weaving and morphing above him – fucking hearts everywhere.

Well Jim’s heart is sure working well enough -the ache becomes a dull throb as his pulse synchronizes with the music pounding through him. He’s lost track of time and he’s covered in sweat, eyes half closed as he tries to shut out his surroundings. He’s a contradiction – can’t understand why he’s even here.

Sure Jim loves dancing when he’s a bit high like this and he’s in flow, but, each time he’s almost out of his head space, and his eyes open momentarily, the lights seem to pick out Bones.

One time, Bones is leaning on the bar, Naveen whispering in his ear, looking cool as you like. And Jim could swear that Bones totally catches his eye, like he can tell he’s being watched.

Jim turns away, dances some more, weaves further into the mass of sentient beings, half-stoned on endorphins, working out the tension in his chest and neck, attempting to twist away from this flood of unfamiliar want with every kick, and punch and twirl of his body. Sweat pours down his face and throat and he shakes it free, determined to forget where he is, drown out all thoughts and just be.

Sparkles drop from the ceiling, and stick to Jim’s skin, heart shapes and little pink and red penis shapes, roses, even hand-cuffs – ah romance, he thinks, sweeping his hand down his forearm to loosen the latest load where they’ve covered him, and he leans into the body behind his, grateful for the contact and the heat on his skin.

It must be Omar, he thinks, as a large hand latches onto his hips and Jim’s kind of disgusted at himself how he melts into the contact, part of him wondering at how he’s not so much as brushed against anyone in the time he’s been on the dance-floor. And boy, he thinks, as Omar’s hand winds round his chest, this feels _so_ fucking good.

The track ends, segues into another and he decides he needs to get outside in the alley down the side of the club, get some air, drag Omar with him, take that big, familiar cock in his mouth and ground himself, stop thinking about…he grabs Omar’s hand, pulls it off his hip and leans back, says, “Hey man, let’s go --” the hand on his chest grips tight and Jim realizes he’s had his eyes shut in forever so when he cranes his neck to check out his friend’s face, the moment of realization, it’s like he’s sat in a pail dropping down a well.

“Bones?”

“Who the fuck else would it be?” Comes the drawled reply and before Jim can begin to work out what the _hell_ , scalding lips brand into the skin behind his ear.

Bones’ fingers grip tighter, pulling Jim closer, the scent of him washing over him, as Jim moans, chews his lip, arches so his ass is pressed hard against Bones’ groin. Fuck, he needs to turn around, take a look at him, kiss him before he comes in his pants but he’s kind of scared he’ll break the spell.

Jim manages to lift a heavy arm and grip at the back of Bones’ neck, tug at him until that evil mouth can’t leave his skin, can’t stop muttering whatever filthy obscenities he can’t hear properly above the music, but wants to believe are for him alone.

Then, of _course_ , in the next lurched heart-beat, Jim feels a wave of ice break over him and he’s standing alone and Bones is fucking gone.

Jim spins round, catches Naveen’s eye way across the dance-floor at the bar, and spots a leather -clad back as his tormentor leaves him high and dry, metaphorical cock in hand, blinking as the lights change to blinding white. And Christ Bones can walk, tall and composed, never once looking over his shoulder, sauntering through the light and stripe of the strobe till he disappears into the shadows. The music’s pitch hits crescendo at the same time Jim’s stomach drops, and he wants to cover his eyes and ears and just run.

Of course he doesn’t – instead he dances out the fucking music like the never-say-die hero he is, _totally command track_ , Jim thinks bitterly, his impossibly hard cock goading his every step until he can’t stand it anymore and escapes, crashing into one body and another, avoiding the glares and cussing he leaves in his wake.

Jim stands panting on the edge of the dance-floor, grabs a glass of iced water off the bar and downs it in three gulps, hands shaking. He saves a piece of ice and sucks on it, decides he’s going to take a piss, and leave. _This_ Bones, he’s…well, a fucking imposter, that’s what he is.

Jim kicks open a cubicle door and collapses into the wall, forehead pressing against rough graffiti and nostrils filled with sickly sweet ammonia and stale sweat. He’s got one leg pushed up against the door to keep it closed, the old-fashioned lock’s broken, and the other bends under him as he wrestles his jeans down his thighs, the waistband soaked through with sweat, hands trembling as he frees his cock at last.

He can’t hold in a long hiss as Jim finally, _finally_ gets his hand on his dick, sense memories of those hot hands, that mouth – Jesus – but not allowing his mind to follow this story to the end, to how Bones walked away and left him. For now he just needs to get off so he can regain a semblance of higher order brain function.

His cock’s heavy, _burning_ , so hard Jim’s worried it’ll shatter as he begins a slow glide up and down. The friction’s almost unpleasant so he releases his hold for a moment and spits a few times into his palm, mouth still chill from the ice, and wasn’t _that_ a bit of foresight, he thinks, a suppressed fragment of self-loathing surfacing now his guard’s totally down..

He twists so his back’s against the door and he can concentrate on cupping his balls, rubbing his cock slow then, as he allows himself to linger on the image of Bones’ kohl-rimmed eyes, how fucking exotic he looked gazing at him earlier, Jim comes messily, angrily, trying to muffle his groans into his shoulder.

Jim doesn’t move, stares at the toilet pan for a few long moments, the broken seat hanging half-on, half-off and he knows this moment is some kind of metaphor, only he doesn’t want to think about of _what_ precisely because, seriously, he doesn’t feel any better.

He pushes away from the door and unfurls some paper to clean off his hand and belly, balls it up, flushes and tucks himself away with a curl of his lip, then emerges blinking into the harshly lit rest-room. It’s deserted and he walks to the sink and washes his hands and face and, glugs down more mouthfuls of water.

He needs a cab and teases out his comm from his back pocket, swallows when he sees a missed call and a text message.

From Bones.

 _I never had you down for a coward._

Coward? Jim’s not the one parading around like a god damned Armani model with his new _trophy_ boyfriend and then behaving like a prick-tease. He texts back a concise – _fuck you_ and orders a cab.

+++

Jim might as well have ordered the cab via carrier pigeon because fifteen minutes later, he’s still pacing outside the club. He checks his comm, no messages from Gaila, nor Omar, so he turns it off. Then he hears:

“Night, Leo. Sure you don’t want a ride?”

“Nope, like I said, I have unfinished business. I’ll bring my Halloween costume back soon as it’s back from the cleaners.”

Bones. Fuck.

Jim dips his head, shoves his hands into his pockets and walks the three miles back to campus in a whirl of irritation and rejection wondering what the hell the ‘unfinished business’ comment even meant, while at the same time cursing his stupid overactive brain and abandonment complex, which he really should take the opportunity to have fixed for free by one of the campus psych aficionados. If only he can ever bring himself to speak to another human being ever again.

He should know better by now, Christmas, Valentines, and mother-fucking birthdays, any kind of - you’re-expected-to-have-a-ball situation never works out well for him. Spring Break, the whole fucking-fecund-rite-of-spring shit-fest coming up in a few weeks, he’s going to lock his door, replicate a kilo of popcorn and sink into an awesome movie marathon of kitsch like no one would believe. And, Jim thinks, raising his hand to his key-pad, he’s recycling every infernal white t-shirt he owns tomorrow.

“Something wrong with your eyesight, Jim?”

“Jesus, fuck, Bones. Where’d you come from and how the hell did you get here so quick?”

Bones emerges from the shadows, his face is chiaroscuro, half lit by the security light.

“I took your cab.”

“What? And what do you mean what’s wrong with my eyes?”

Bones is the picture of self-possession as he advances towards him. “I mean, Jim…” and Bones is so fucking close, standing toe to toe, all up in Jim’s personal space and he looks so fucking gorgeous Jim wants to punch him.

Jim almost goes cross-eyed when Bones raises a finger and traces it under Jim’s left eye. “I don’t think it’s medical, not without running tests, but in my estimation, you don’t appear to be able to see what’s right under your nose.”

Jim grits his teeth, annoyed his cock’s jumped to attention again, bastard, errant organ of hatefulness, but his brain, thank fuck, is still functioning despite his earlier slump into self-pity and hearts-in-his eyes hopefulness.

“Bones, or should I say, _Leo_ , you’re a dick.”

“Not arguing, but so are you, kid.” Now Bones runs his finger under Jim’s other eye, cocks his head to the side and thinks. Jim can’t breathe he’s so mad – his hands in tight fists, his neck rigid with holding back his rage.

“Stop it, Bones - stop with the bad-ass act and the…”

When Bones runs his finger down Jim’s cheek, a slight furrow on his brow, there’s one last thought struggles through Jim’s fevered mind, something about how his friend’s eyes are a color-wheel of moss and olive and more green than hazel like he’d always thought. But when the finger slides between Jim’s lips, just like that – Jim’s back to square one, his blood slides down the ladder and he pulls Bones towards him, a hand pinching into his shoulder another raking through his hair as their lips meet at-fucking- _last_.

The kiss is a little bit clumsy, not movie, not romance novel, more two dogs fighting for the same piece of meat as their tongues war as if to prove who the hell had this idea in the first place. Bones tastes bitter-sweet, whiskey and salty snacks and the infernal sandalwood faded but so him, so specific to this body and heat and enigma of a man that Jim’s legs almost buckle under him as he lets go and allows his mouth to be plundered, his body to be manipulated and pressed against the door.

“So, this, I mean, _I_ was the unfinished business?” Jim suggests weakly as he breaks for air.

“Could be…now get your scrawny ass inside before I ruin these borrowed pants of mine.”

Bones moves away to give him room, but his hands don’t leave Jim for an instant and Jim’s a little thrilled at how Bones seems as affected as he is, chest heaving, lips plump and slick with their combined saliva. The frown’s still there though, to match Jim’s own.

Jim’s hand hovers over the key-pad again, he shoots Bones a sideways look. “Wait, what about Va-Va-Veen? He’s cool with this?”

“Why wouldn’t he be?” Bones is working his hands up under Jim’s jacket, so his thumbs rest in Jim’s arm-pits, mouth searching for another kiss.

“I thought you two were BFFs or something?”

“I wouldn’t go that far, Jim,” Bones chuckles, shoving him through the door into the dark interior of his single room. “We’re buddies is all, been for a couple of drinks, and what the hell is this – Jim Kirk and traditional views when you have a crew of fuck-buddies at your dick’s beck and call?”

“Yeah, they’re all totally in my thrall witnessed by how I was alone most of the evening.”

Bones pulls him close, kisses him long and hard and mutters something into Jim’s throat when he’s done nipping a heated trail across it.

“Say that again,” Jim croaks, rather pleased with himself when he uses one of his awesome combat moves to upend his friend onto the narrow bed.

“Hearing problems too, isn’t that spiffy?” Bones drawls, the picture of fuckable where he lies sprawled, t-shirt ridden up over his navel, the butter soft leather jacket half on one shoulder, his tailored pants doing nothing to hide his erection and, who knew Leonard McCoy would have such a high octane smolder?

“Blood’s gone south, Bones, I’m not myself,” Jim smirks, heart pounding in his head, eyes fixed on that glorious mouth, kicking off his jeans and wondering if it would be totally un-cool to dive onto the bed.

“I _said_ , I might have had something to do with that. Oh, and the cab turning up late.” His eyes seem to glitter in the moonlight and Jim chews his lip, afraid he’s totally lost it.

He frowns, looks down at his dick almost flush against his groin. “So, let me get this straight,” he sits on the edge of the bed and runs his hand up Bones’ leg, stopping just short of his inner thigh. Bones parts his lips, his head slumps back onto the pillow. “First you impersonate yourself in an, alternate universe or something – someone called Leo…” Bones nods, closes his eyes and moans when Jim rests his hand on the outline of his cock. “Then you lead me to believe, after parading around in a towel to _make_ me think of you in a different light and see how hot you actually are that—“

“Nope, that part wasn’t a ruse, I’ve always looked that hot in a towel,” Bones grins then arches his ass off the bed when Jim grabs him roughly through his pants.

“Okay, I’ll let that go. Still, then you pretend like you’re not interested in me in that way, even though _I_ patently was in you, sitting in your room with a hard on from hell.”

Bones rests his hand on Jim’s and rotates it for him. “Umm, that’s good.” With the other, he tugs at Jim’s elbow to guide him closer, so their lips are millimeters apart. Jim swallows, inhales his scent, leans in for a long kiss slides his tongue across soft, chapped lips, nips at the bottom one until he can sit back and contemplate the half-closed eyes, the stubble, remembers how it felt pressed against his neck in the night club and he unbuttons the gabardine pants, edging his fingers across warm flesh.

“Let’s get these off so I can teach you a lesson, you sadistic bastard, and stop with the frowning – you’ll lose those eyebrows if they make contact with that foofy gel in your hair!” Jim releases his hold on Bones’ dick to run his fingers across stray hairs plastered to the strong forehead.

Bones shakes with laughter, his eyes crinkling, head thrown back so that Jim wants to bite at his Adam’s apple. He meets Jim half-way by sliding his pants down, then his underwear and pulling up his t-shirt. Jim grabs his wrist.

“No, leave it there, I like you disheveled.”

Bones arches an eyebrow then thinks better of what ever smart-ass comment he was about to make and takes a deep breath. “Listen Jim, I’m fine with the accusations an’ all, long as they don’t slow down the whole teaching me a lesson part.”

Jim nods, a pulse of want firing through his back and thighs. “Noted,” he croaks.

He climbs onto the bed and straddles Bones’ thighs. “Where was I?” He says, leaning forward so both their cocks are lined up. Bones holds his gaze, peering through thick lashes.

“No fucking idea,” comes the moaned reply.

It feels unreal, and Jim’s still brain-fucked by how quickly they’ve come to this point over a few hours. He glances down at their cocks, back at his friend’s face, sighs at the feel of those long fingers on his ass, tugging him forward and up and he begins to jack them off teasing in his pace, soaking up the rough moans and gasps from the man below him.

“Then you lead me to believe… _fuck_ … you have a hot date with smooth doctor boyfriend, who totally applied eyeliner and dressed you up in his finery.”

Bones takes a while to respond. “I did?” His hands slide up and down Jim’s skin, sometimes softly, then nails raking, scoring and Jim lurches up when firm fingers find his nipples and twist mercilessly. Doctors, all licensed sadists, Jim decides as he releases his hold and shifts down Bones’ hairy legs to nudge his legs open.

“You did.”

Bones’ cock is glistening with pre-come and Jim swirls his thumb across the top, transfers it to his mouth wantonly, watching for a reaction. He’s up on one elbow as he watches, the sinews in his neck straining and Jim wishes he had at least two mouths so he could bite and taste more of this man at once. Jim swirls the salty tang across the roof of his mouth, rests his tongue between his teeth, reaches for the night stand and the lube.

Bones drops down again, his hands twisting the bedding in anticipation.

“Did you notice the eye-fucking part, across the dance-floor, Jim?”

Jim shakes his head, lubes up his fingers and watches in awe how Bones spreads his thighs wide, and reaches for his own dick when Jim slathers a generous amount on his hole.

“Nope.” His middle finger slides in easily and Bones gasps, presses into Jim’s hand, chest rising and falling at the combined sensations from the probing and his own hand as he jacks himself gently.

“Blind, see? I figured –dammit, Jim – don’t stop, _Jesus_ …That’s why I came and joined you.”

“Why’d you go?” He’s transfixed by the sight of his fingers disappearing and re-appearing as he opens Bones up, the contrast of their skin, Bones so much darker than his, the light freckles even here, and he withdraws his hand, lubes up three fingers and works them in. Bones is becoming less coherent but, Jim thinks, he’d make a great addition to his crew one day, the way he’s still able to keep a level head even when Jim turns his hand just _so_. His heart soars when he hears a whispered:

“I thought you’d come with me. I needed you to make the decision, Jim.”

Damn him. “But you were with your boyfriend.”

“Who’s _not_ my boyfriend. That part was in your head. He was late. He was supposed to be gone when you arrived. Then when you left, I asked him to come along ‘cause I figured you’d dump me when we got there anyways.”

“Like I always do, “Jim whispers.

“Fuck, I suck at masterplans.” Bones eyes flash and for a second, Jim thinks he’s blown it when Bones pushes him off, then the pieces of his heart gather themselves up when Bones reaches for the lube, and touches Jim’s cock for the first time. “Come here, you idiot,” he growls, lubing Jim up then pulling him down for a hungry kiss that says more than any of his pathetic attempts at communication said in that shit-hole club.

Bones releases his hold, and turns onto his belly, rearranges the pillows so he’s got one under his groin, a couple under his face. He peers over his shoulder at Jim, eyes black with lust. “Okay, I’m gonna cut this short,” he growls, and Jim glances down at his muscular ass, gets between his splayed thighs, letting out a long breath in anticipation.

“If I had any idea you talked this much in bed, I’d have gagged you – _Jesus, ungh_.” Jim rubs the length of his cock up and down Bones’ ass crack, listens hungrily to the huffs and growls as his fingers find their goal.

“So, _there, yeah…shit_ …quick run down: Gaila comm’d me, said you wouldn’t stop talking about how you’d got me to agree to a dying wish in the clinic, she said she’d back off at the party, Omar too, and you’d be mine for the taking.”

Jim watches the back of Bones’ head, the way it flails as he breaches the first ring of muscle.

“How’d you know... _Christ_ you're tight.. I was interested, even before I did?”

“Call it a, _shit_ , hunch. I happen to take dying wishes seriously in my line of work. Fuck, _there_ … and I tol’ the cab to come back. I went outside to find you and it must’ve turned up before came outside and…”

Jim pushes in some more, bites his lip, hisses, “Shut up, Bones, shut _up_.”

“Me? You uppity little…oh, _God_.”

“Umm, you can say that anytime, but no more sentences, fuck, just…” The tight heat envelopes him and Jim thrusts forward hard, just revels in the moment of connection, the sounds torn out of both their throats. Once seated, he lowers himself completely on Bones, reaches to adjust the pillow under him so he can get the right angle and—

“Like that, Bones?”

“Fuck, _move_ , smug son of a bi…”

So he does, mouth on the broad, smooth shoulders, forehead rolling in supplication and wonder until, all too soon, the heat coursing through him pools and flares, first in the base of his spine then his pelvis until he comes with a shout, pounding into Bones, trying to get as far inside him as he can his arms pulling the man back into him so they’re half kneeling on the bed.

Jim _thinks_ Bones comes too, he’s not really sure until he rolls him over and tosses the soaked pillow aside and witnesses a shit-eating grin probably as goofy as his own. Jim pulls the sheet up to cover them and squashes up against Bones on his side, his arms wrapped around his chest, chin on Bones’ shoulder listening to him breathe.

“Bones…”

“Hmmm?”

“The heart on the mirror… I thought it was for Naveen.”

“Well that’s just more proof that you’re the king of dumb-asses isn’t it, kid?”

“I guess,” Jim says, licking at the salty skin behind Bones’ ear. He waits a beat and then adds, “Happy Valentine’s, Bonesy.”

The only answer is a snore.

+++

When Jim wakes up he’s cold and hard, and there’s no sign of Bones. The pillow’s still warm and, before he can begin to worry he hears the flush in the bathroom and a bleary eyed, disheveled hot doctor strolls into focus, scratching at his belly, the faded plaid pajamas he’s raided from Jim’s drawer lying low on his hips. His hair’s a freakin’ bed-mess and his eye-liner’s totally smudged, and Jim’s heart does a double bounce at the sight of him.

“Stop right there,” Jim says in his best command voice – which just gets a raised eyebrow and an eye roll.

“Why? What? Don’t tell me what to do you jumped up little brat.” The warmth in Bones’ voice totally undermines the words and Jim feels his cock twitch.

“I just want to enjoy the sight of you, now you’re a pumpkin again,” he smirks. “So you put all that fancy stuff on for my benefit, Bones?”

Bones grunts, climbs on top of him and palms Jim’s dick through the sheet.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“Shut up, Jim, it’s early.” Bones nestles between Jim’s open thighs and grabs his hands, pins them to his sides.

“Ummm, Bones, you know this will be a tale to share with the grandchildren?”

Bones pushes up onto his elbows and glares at him through said bed hair. “Hey. Let’s get through the first week without my strangling you for talkin’ in the morning before I’ve taken my coffee. You always this damned chipper when you wake up?”

Jim tries to crane and kiss him then slumps back onto the pillow. “No, Bones, I’m not, but wanna know something--?” he never gets to say it, how he thinks, hopes, that he will be _absolutely_ as chipper as this from now on, because Bones is shutting him up with that glorious mouth of his even as Jim mutters ‘no fair’ and feels the slide of the sheet when Bones kicks it away.

“No talkin, dammit!”

More hot kisses and Jim gazes up at Bones as he huffs about the sheet and goddamned scratchy Starfleet issue cheap-ass shit. He licks his thumb and presses it to Bones’ neck, pulls his thumb away and raises it to show a red heart sparkle which fell from the ceiling the night before and must have somehow transferred itself from Jim's skin to Bones' during the night.

“For you, Romeo,” he grins.

“And who said romance was dead?” Bones grouches, his eyes twinkling. He bares his teeth in a grin and then sinks them into Jim’s shoulder.

~END~


End file.
